The Great War
by Moment For Life
Summary: As the USA joined the first world war, Jack Dawson receives a letter of conscription which will tear him away from his beloved Rose. Complete.
1. A Letter To Change Everything

**This is another re-write of an old story which I wrote back in 2008. There are some parts which are descriptive about the war and some may find it a bit upsetting so I will warn you now.**

 **I hope you enjoy this. I wrote it to signify the end of the Great War 11.11.1918 at the 11th hour.**

 **The Great War**

 **Chapter one: A Letter To Change Everything**

 **May 14** **th** **1917, New York City.**

Her breath was caught in her throat and she felt as though she could no longer breathe. The world around her seemed to slip away, along with her consciousness.

Her chest tightened and her body weakened.

All because of a letter. One letter which would change her life forever.

A letter which would rip them apart.

A letter of conscription...

America had entered the war on the sixth of April, 1917. Up to that date, America had tried to keep out of World War One–though she had traded with nations involved in the war–but unrestricted submarine warfare, introduced by the Germans on January 9, 1917, was the first issue that caused Woodrow Wilson to ask Congress to declare war on Germany on April second. Four days later, America joined World War One on the side of the Allies.

The war in Europe had been raging since 1914. She had toured Europe in late 1913 with her husband, Jack on their honeymoon and they had returned just before the war had been declared. The horror of the war had kept her awake for weeks, not knowing whether her husband would be drafted and now, here she was, with the letter in her hand. The feelings the notice had given her were more wounding than she thought they could have been.

Rose Elizabeth Dawson was just twenty-two years old. She had met her husband, Jack Dawson, on board the Titanic almost five years before. She had defied her family and society to be with him and she had never regretted her decision. Therefore, her family and ex-fiancé believed her to be dead.

They had married in New York in September of 1912, just a quick and small ceremony at the smallest church they could find in the city. But the truth was, it was all they had dreamt of. They had worked for many months to be able to afford their marriage license, but once they married, all of the hard work was worth it.

They had continued to live in New York. Rose was a theatre actress, starring in many plays a year. The money was better than she had initially thought and so after just two months she had quit her job as a café waitress and threw herself into the profession and now she was considered one of the most talented actresses at the Electric Theatre. Jack was an artist there. He drew posters and did the promotional side of things at the theatre. It was convenient for them both and together they pulled in audiences larger than any other theatre. Their prices were low, due to the war, many people had cut back on what they spent, the theatre had reflected this and even occasionally they would put on a free performance for those less fortunate.

Life had been good for the couple. They had married young, but never regretted a thing. Their love for each other was stronger than most married couples twice their age.

It was only now that things started to boil over.

Jack was just twenty-five. He had a long life ahead of him. But now he had been conscripted into the war in Europe. The worst part was that he would actually be fighting on the front line, where all of the deaths were. He himself had read the horror stories in the newspapers, of the number of deaths and casualties in France alone.

The Battle of the Somme held the record for most number of deaths in a war. Held a record? As if it was some sort of contest of who killed the most. These were real people who were dying, who were in pain. Not just a figure on a piece of paper, like many people seemed to forget. General Haig had announced that morale in the trenches was high. How could that be? When many people were losing their families and friends?

His Rose had wept long hours once she had read the letter. He did everything he could to comfort her and reassure her, but he himself was just as scared of what the war held for him and yet he kept his own fear under wraps. He wasn't scared of death for he had faced that old enemy a fair few times in his short life. It was a fear of leaving Rose alone. That was the image which he just couldn't shake.

He had reassured her time after time that he would return to her. He reminded her that he was a survivor and that nothing on this earth would come between them. But he himself was having doubts. There were men out there younger than him, already fathers, who had been lost in the damned war. Why would God spare him? Just to return to his wife? His pickings were very slim.

The telegram had arrived that morning. It had been ever so normal in the way it had started until a young man stood outside of the apartment door, and in his hand, he had held the letter, he was unsure of himself as though he didn't know if this was the right address.

"Telegram for Jack Dawson." His young voice had cracked and Rose had found him amusing, not in a cruel way and so she had kept her smirk hidden.

"He isn't here right now."

"Are you his wife?"

"Yes."

With that, the boy had handed her the letter before hurrying away on his bicycle.

Rose had frowned and found the whole event odd, the way the boy scurried away, not even hinting for a tip.

She had set the letter on the counter, fighting the urge to open it herself, and carried on running through her lines for the play she was set to star in soon. It had watched her all afternoon, taunting her to be opened until Jack came home but she wasn't one to open his mail and usually she didn't have a care in the world but there was something about this one. The way it had been stamped so many times. She had tried to distinguish where they were from but to no avail she had left it.

Jack had returned from work in a rather good mood and had found the telegram on the counter addressed to him. He furrowed his brow; he rarely received mail.

As he sank into a chair to rest his back and to read the piece of paper, his face had paled.

The US Army wanted him to join the war, which had already torn the world apart. He placed two fingers on his forehead. Perhaps this was something he wasn't reading correctly and yet no matter how many times he read over the words. They still made perfect sense. He was a healthy young man and they needed him to fight for his country.

He glanced at the details on the card. They had everything from his town of birth, occupation, address and his wife. He sighed, there was no wrong information on there. On the other side there was an exemption form, in case he felt the need to appeal their decision to send him to war. He mentally listed any injuries, anything to keep him away but there was nothing. Why should there be? As much as he didn't want to go, he knew he shouldn't be the one to stay at home when other men fought so harshly and passionately for the country which he lived in.

How could he be separated from his Rose, even for a short time? When they had married, they had vowed to never be separated again, and now, here he was, about to be taken away from her again.

There wasn't anything either of them could do about the notice. The law required he go to war. If not, he could end up in prison. Which was something which neither of them could handle.

Rose's reaction to the notice had been worse than he initially thought it would be. She had let the letter slip from her delicate fingers and simply crumpled in his arms.

"I wish I could go with you," Rose had sniffled when she had calmed a little. It was as though suddenly her job and their home didn't matter. All she needed was him and where he was she would go.

"No, you don't. You don't want to see war. I don't want you to see the war. Reading about it is bad enough." He wiped her eyes and stroked her face.

"I don't want to witness the battle. Just be with you, Jack."

"I know."

"Maybe they will take me as a nurse?" Rose offered. Anything to keep her with Jack.

"I don't want you anywhere near the war, Rose."

''But I want to be with you.''

''I will always be with you. But you will stay here, in the safest place possible.''

With that, Rose had simply nodded before sobbing once again in her husband's arms. She knew she had to trust Jack's wishes. She couldn't go against them, that would be breaking a marriage vow.

Jack would do anything he could to protect her, and he knew she meant well by suggesting she join the effort, but he would never sleep, knowing Rose wasn't safe. At least if she was here, she would be safe. He hoped.


	2. Jack's Journey

The Great War

Chapter two: Jack's Journey

Jack left for the basic training a week later.

In October, Jack said his good-byes to Rose and then he had left for Europe. He was uneasy about the crossing. He'd heard about the U-Boats sinking ships frequently.

The journey to Europe took ten days, and they arrived in England safely, with no battles. Jack crossed the English Channel and dreaded the time when he would reach France until then he and the other men would pass their time by smoking, playing ball games and doing everything they could to not think of home.

Once he knew of his location, he began to write to Rose, sometimes daily. Anything to take his mind off where he was. He pictured his Rose alone and he cried himself to sleep most nights.

The war would be cold, long, and lonely.

He took out his pen and wrote.

 _November 18, 1917_

 _My dear Rose,_

 _I have only been here for two weeks and it already seems an eternity since I saw your beautiful face._

 _We may be apart geographically, but you're always here in my heart. Things haven't been so bad so far. But the situation here is something I hope you never see._

 _The beautiful French countryside has been butchered by bombs and explosives. I have made friends with a French soldier, Thierry. He, too, was drafted away from him wife and two daughters. He talks of them endlessly and has shown me pictures._

 _I keep a picture of you in my pack, Rose. Every time I feel afraid and alone, I take it out, see your smiling face, and I'm reminded of what I will be returning to._

 _We've been told we could be home for the New Year. Imagine that, huh, Rosie? Home in time to ring in 1918 together, and then we can begin to try for a baby again._

 _This is all I can write for now. I will write again soon. Trust me._

 _Love always,_

 _Jack_

The letter had brought good news to Rose. For him to be home by Christmas would be wonderful.

 _December 1, 1917_

 _Dear Jack,_

 _I do hope you are here for the New Year. In just the short space of time we've been apart, I've felt nothing but loneliness._

 _Work isn't the same without you. Everyone seems to ask of you as if you had died._

 _I have only starred in one play since you left. The crying I do for you seems to exhaust me physically and mentally. I know I shouldn't be like this, darling, but just thinking of you alone out there is enough to make me want to pack up here and join you._

 _I wish to know no details of the war. It is a waste of writing. I just want to know how you are._

 _I am glad you have a friend. How is he? Tell him I send my love and that he and his family are in my prayers, just as you are, Jack, every night._

 _I pray for the war to end, for you to return to me, and for the soldiers who are killed as we speak._

 _It is almost too much for anyone to take in, Jack._

 _I also have a picture of you and I on our wedding day. I take it wherever I go and I sleep with it underneath my pillow._

 _I have taken to sleeping on your side of the bed. Anything to be closer to you._

 _I can still smell your scent on the covers and your warm arms around me on the cold nights._

 _Keep yourself safe, my darling. Not just for me, but for yourself._

 _Please write soon. I love to hear from you._

 _I love you,_

 _Your Rose_

The letter brought so much joy to Jack, so much so that he had re-read it over and over just to see the curves of her writing, just to feel close to her. He could almost smell her scent on the paper which he knew was stored in their drawer at home in the kitchen. He could see the paper laying there in the drawer and something that simple made him feel closer to home.

 _December 21, 1917_

 _My dearest Rose,_

 _I want to take this chance now to wish you a very Merry Christmas. I would love to be there, Rosie. To help you with the decorations and such. I bet the place looks beautiful._

 _Please, my love, don't worry too much. I may not be home for the New Year, but I will return. That is a promise._

 _Carry on as normal. Don't think of me too much. Please, for me, stop crying. I never could bear to see you cry, especially over me or this damned war._

 _Follow your dreams. Don't stop your work, which I know you love so damned much. You are so talented._

 _When I see you on that stage, I feel so much admiration for you, my Rose. I still feel it now, sitting here alone in my trench. The other guys have gone to play cards with some of the other soldiers. I have made friends with another few men. They're good guys. Most of them have families or a wife. One guy, Matthew's, fiancée gave birth to twins just three days before he was conscripted. He has done nothing but write to his girl since he came here._

 _Thierry is as well as he can be, considering where we are. He thanks you for your kind wishes._

 _Tell everyone at the theatre that I will return safely and give them my best wishes for Christmas and the New Year._

 _I know it will be hard. This is our first Christmas apart. But stay strong, my darling._

 _I will be home before you know it._

 _Love always,_

 _Jack_

Rose had received the letter after Christmas and before the New Year. She had sat reading it clutching a cup of tea in Jack's favourite mug.

 _January 9, 1918_

 _Dearest Jack,_

 _I didn't celebrate Christmas. I didn't even bother with the trimmings. I thought to not bother with you not been here. I cooked myself a lonely dinner and ate it by the fire whilst watching the snow fall outside the window and crying myself to sleep that night._

 _It has been just two months and it feels like forever._

 _Things seem to be getting worse over there, from what I have read in the papers. I know I said I wanted to know nothing of the war, but the newspapers seem to report more and more casualties each day._

 _I rang in the New Year with some work friends. Abigail, Tom, Richie, and such. We all had a few glasses of wine before dancing into the night and kicking up our heels._

 _I miss you, though, darling. I felt guilty almost immediately afterwards for enjoying myself when so many men are out there fighting for our country._

 _I haven't felt well since Christmas. Maybe it was the fact that I was alone. I have planned a visit to the doctor's for next week. I do hope it's nothing serious._

 _Happy New Year, my darling. May you soon return to me and see the rest of the year together._

 _I have some news from Timmy and Jo. They're to become parents in September. Jo has found out she is just over a month pregnant. I was wild with excitement, but I also felt a little sad. I want that to happen to me. I want to carry your child, Jack._

 _I want you to be home. I want a lot of things._

 _Stay safe._

 _Love always,_

 _Your wife,_

 _Rose_

Jack felt the sinking of his stomach as he had read their letter but thoughts of Rose enjoying herself carried him through the next few days.

 _February 1, 1918_

 _My dear Rose,_

 _Forgive me for not writing sooner. The conditions here are worsening, but enough of that._

 _Please congratulate Timmy and Jo. I cannot even begin to express how happy I am for them._

 _I want a baby, too. I want to be a father to your baby. I want to raise it with you. Hell, we'll have a whole bunch of babies._

 _That is one of the only thoughts keeping me going. To know that when I return, I will be able to make a baby with you._

 _It is almost six years since we met, Rose. Six long years. I still love you, now more than ever. I hope you know that. I gaze at the beautiful stars here each night and yet none of them will ever compare with your beauty._

 _Please let me know how the doctor visit went. I do hope you're well._

 _The guys and I saw in the New Year with a bottle of whisky, a fire, and some tunes. We all sang Auld Lang Sine as midnight approached and then we returned to what we call our beds and most of us wept, me included._

 _I'm sorry for not being there, darling. I don't want you to live like this, Rosie. You have to remain positive and healthy._

 _Sorry this letter is so short. I have to go._

 _I love you from now until eternity-remember that, my love._

 _Jack_

After reading Jack's letter, Rose quickly sat at the kitchen table and pulled out her writing pen and ink. This was a letter she couldn't wait to write.

 _February 14, 1918_

 _Dear Jack,_

 _I did see the doctor, and he gave me some very surprising news-I am pregnant._

 _I am four months along. We conceived the night you left for France._

 _Oh, God, Jack. Please stay safe, now more than ever. We're to have a baby in five months' time, and it needs its father, just like I need you._

 _Your last letter made me burst into tears. Maybe it's because my emotions are everywhere, with me being with child._

 _I am due sometime in late July. Please come home before then. I don't want to give birth to our child alone. I don't want to have to be alone much longer._

 _Abigail has come to live with me for some months, due to my pregnancy. It's something I don't want to admit, but I am finding it hard to cope with. All of this is just so overwhelming. I always expected that when we had a child, you would be here with me all the way, Jack._

 _In your last letter, you said you wanted to be a father. Well, you are._

 _I hope this news makes you happy, my love._

 _You also said conditions are worsening. How are they? Please don't shield me any longer. I have felt the pain of living without you for four long months. The pain cannot get any worse, can it?_

 _Stay safe, love. Don't let go now. We both need you, now more than ever._

 _I have to stay strong now, for I have a life within me. A life created by our love._

 _I love you, darling._

 _From your Rose_

Jack folded the letter and clutched it to his chest. He watched the nights sky for just a second. A tear fell, followed by another and before he knew it. They wouldn't stop.

 _March 20, 1918_

 _My dearest Rose,_

 _I have never felt such pain as what I feel right now. To know I am here in another country, fighting a damned war, while you are there at home, carrying our child._

 _I cannot begin to tell you just how happy I am. To know you are pregnant is enough now to carry me through. I will be home before you give birth. I will see my son or daughter come into this world._

 _I hope you are well, my dear. Keep warm and safe. I will be home now before long, my dear. I swear it._

 _It will be a good thing when this war is over. It's keeping thousands of men from seeing their families. I am one of the lucky ones. I can write to my wife. Some men here can't even write at all, for they have lost limbs. Matthew was shot just two days ago, and I had to write to his girl to give her the news._

 _Men are dying left, right, and centre at the hospitals in town. They are full, and some men are even refusing to go to the hospital, thinking they will die there._

 _I have never been so close to death in my life as I am right now._

 _There are dead bodies scattered everywhere, of all nationalities, many of which are fathers._

 _The sights are sickening, Rose. You do not wish to know any of the details._

 _I am glad you have company for a while, Rosie. It will do you good to not be alone._

 _How are Jo and Timmy? Give them my love. I do hope Jo is all right and her pregnancy is going well._

 _How are you, Rose? How do you feel, despite being so far away from me?_

 _I wish I could simply take away all of the pain you feel. I wish I could be there with you, to feel our baby move around inside of you and to soothe you through this time._

 _Write back as soon as you can. I wish to be updated with every little thing, darling._

 _I love you-never forget that._

 _From Jack_

Jack's response to the news had lifted Rose's spirits ever so slightly but the details of the war made her fear even more for his life.

 _April 2, 1918_

 _My Jack,_

 _All is well, my love. I have felt the baby move non-stop since I told you the news. Maybe it is just anxious to meet its father. I feel butterflies, tickling and the odd prodding._

 _My spirits have been somewhat lifted. Breaking the news to everyone at the theatre was wonderful. They all were very kind and I have already gone on my maternity leave. Tom was around here the other day, painting the spare room as the nursery, and we joked endlessly._

 _He has been good to me Jack. He is a good man. Everything seems to be sinking in now that we are to be parents. Everything seems perfect, darling, so please hurry home._

 _Jo and Timmy are both well and send their love. No one will make better parents than those two. Abigail has been a godsend. She helps me around the house and such._

 _I have a rather large bump now. Every time I look in the mirror and see it I cannot keep the smile from my face._

 _I just wish you were here, Jack. I miss you endlessly. It has been six months since I have seen you, spoken to you, and touched you._

 _The doctor has told me that everything is well and the child's Olympic movements are only a good sign of its healthiness. I do wish I knew if it was a boy or a girl but either way I already love it more than I thought possible. The thought of giving birth scares me, but I will make it through with your help and love._

 _I have to go now._

 _Please write soon._

 _Love always,_

 _Rosie_

Jack smiled. Their child was well, kicking and very active. He remembered when his own Mother once told him that during her pregnancy she thought Jack would kick out of her stomach and that the only thing which would calm him was his own fathers hand on his Mothers stomach. Perhaps he too would have that calm effect on his child.

 _April 15, 1918_

 _Dear Rosie,_

 _Six years ago to the day I fell in love with you. I have loved you since. Six years since the Titanic sank from under us, and now, here we are, involved in yet another tragedy._

 _Thierry died in my arms yesterday. He was shot in the stomach and the arm. His final words were "God Bless America." I felt as though someone had ripped out my heart and I had died with him. His beloved family will now receive a telegram informing them of his death._

 _I have never felt so much anger in my entire life._

 _Matthew, too, was injured again. He was shot in the forearm and was taken to a hospital in the city. I fear I will never see him again._

 _This war is enough to make anyone want to just give up and surrender their lives to the Germans, but not me, Rose. Not me._

 _I will return. I will see my child be born. We survived the Titanic disaster. We will face anything together, and battle it._

 _I am a survivor. I will not let this damned war beat me. I will not give into the damned fear I have been feeling._

 _You and I were meant to be together, and nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever stop us from being together once again._

 _We will meet again one day, Rose._

 _Until then, keep safe._

 _Love always,_

 _Jack_

That was the last Rose heard from her Jack.

It was April thirtieth when things went horribly wrong. The day had started out as usual for Jack. The loud, heavy sounds of explosions and gunfire blasted across the land. The battle still raged heavily on this, the last day of April.

Jack had gone about the day as usual. It was at mid-morning that things suddenly changed. There had been a lull in the sounds of fighting from the trenches, followed by a series of explosions. The day was clear and still, allowing the sounds to carry for miles, right up into town.

It was a mustard gas attack.

The still and clear day had given the perfect opportunity for the Germans to launch the attack. The lack of wind meant the gas would not be blown back to those who had launched it.

The hospital in town was small and filled with injured men. The effects of mustard gas had been seen a few times before in men brought to the hospital on the train, but this was the first time it had been used in the area. The results were horrifying.

Some men stumbled around, blinded by the gas. Others lay on stretchers in agony, choking and moaning from the blisters which covered their body and the effects of the gas on their lungs.

Doctors and nurses rushed to tend to the patients. Most had already died, but some still lived and struggled to breathe. The gas masks had been little use to the soldiers.

The doctors and nurses knew, as they tended to the patients, that they would not survive. They were too gravely ill and the effects of the gas were too powerful. Nurses did their best to help the men, tried to comfort them the best they could, but they knew that soon their time would come.

On the end bed lay a young man no more than twenty-five. His head was bandaged and he was unconscious, or maybe just asleep. His breathing seemed difficult. His chest rose and fell violently. A large bandage was wrapped around his legs and elbow. Blood stained most of his body and a few blisters were visible on his stomach. He, too, had been a victim of the mustard gas attack, although it seemed he hadn't been affected too badly by it until he took a turn for the worse. Even in his unconscious state, he coughed and struggled to breathe. He even coughed up blood and then he went still.


	3. Prayers Are All We Have

**Chapter three: Prayers Are All We Have**

 **May 11** **th** **1918**

Rose had just returned from running a few errands when a knock sounded on the door. A young man stood in the doorway.

"Letter for Mrs. Dawson."

Rose smiled.

"Yes. I am she.'' She actually wondered who was mailing her. Perhaps Jack had responded to her even though she had not yet sent her last letter to him. In his last letter, he had seemed scared and almost not like Jack at all.

The young man offered Rose the envelope and cleared his throat a little. Rose stared at the letter, almost confused. The young man cleared his throat once again and Rose broke her attention and saw that the young man was still standing there. He obviously expected a tip.

Rose dug into her pocket, pulled out a few coins, and handed them to him. He was one of the rude ones, she noted.

"Thank you, ma'am. Have a good day."

Once inside, Rose watched as the young man disappeared down the path. Setting her hat down on the counter, Rose flipped her fingers underneath the seal and broke it. She removed the letter slowly from the envelope and saw that it was folded perfectly across.

She shakily unfolded the letter and began to read.

 _Mrs. Dawson,_

 _We regret to inform you that your husband, Mr. Jack Robert Dawson, has been injured in action due to a mustard gas attack on the morning of April 30, 1918._

 _He is being treated in a hospital in France._

 _You and your family are in our thoughts at this difficult time._

Rose's calm instantly vanished as she dropped the letter with a horrified cry. No! Not Jack. He was supposed to come home safely to watch his child come into the world. He was supposed to be a survivor and now he could die. The letter didn't even say how bad his injuries were. Rose let out another horrified cry and felt her lungs would collapse and her stomach would turn inside out. She had never felt this sort of pain before.

Suddenly, Rose felt the baby move within her and this instantly brought her attention back to the present and calmed her profusely. The baby had never kicked with such force before it had almost hurt. Rose pulled herself from the ground and wiped away her falling tears. Jack would return. He had promised so many times and he would come home. She knew she had to remain positive now, not just for herself, but for the baby she and Jack were to have together. She placed her hand on her stomach to find a tiny foot meeting her hand.

How many more? How many more Goddamned soldiers have to die or be injured for the war to stop? How much more loss of lives? How can the people of the world see this as a holy war? As something which has to carry on no matter what happens and however many lives are lost? Rose thought.

She knew she had to continue to believe Jack would come home. She knew she would. Even if it meant bringing their child into the world alone. Rose knew she would continue to have faith in her Jack. He never broke his promises, ever.

 **France.**

The young man could feel the pain like no other he had ever felt before. It seemed the world surrounding him was black and like hell.

 _Maybe I died_ , he thought for a few seconds.

The moans that surrounded him were like laying in the middle of a death zone. They were horrendous.

The young man mustered all of the strength he could and lifted his right arm slowly at first and then he caught sight through his bleary blue eyes. His arm was plastered and bandaged. Then he felt the pain. Shit. The indescribable pain which shot up and down his arm. But he was determined to be able to lift his painful and bloody arm to his head.

He felt something slimy and wet on his head. He touched the edge of his forehead gently with his fingertips before bringing them down so he could see what it was.

In the dim light of the room, he could just make out the colour. Red. Blood.

"Oh, my God!" He panicked loudly and his voice seemed to echo around the room. He was bleeding. He knew he didn't like blood. He never had since he was a child.

The moans seem to grow louder and then more painful. The young man heard footsteps audibly coming towards him. He tried to raise his head a little to see where they were coming from, but his head felt weak and heavy. The room was quite dark and the only light was through a half-opened door in the corner of the room.

The steps seemed to stop beside him and a hand reached out and flicked on his bedside lamp.

The young man carefully turned his head, trying not to cause himself much pain from his head. There he saw a young woman, obviously very young, no more than twenty.

She had blonde hair, which was tucked under a nurse's hat, and a nurse's dress on. In her hand she held a clipboard, and then she placed it on the cabinet beside his bed and took out some pills from her pocket. She seemed to smile infectiously and as the young man looked at her pretty face, he thought maybe she was an angel.

"It's time for your pills, sir," the young woman whispered. She proceeded to pick up her clipboard as to see how many pills the young man was prescribed.

The man frowned and then repeated, "Pills?"

"Yes. Pills." The young woman handed the young man two pills and a small glass of water. "For the pain, sir. You must take them. They will reduce the pain in your wounds."

"Wounds?" The man repeated once again.

"Yes, sir."

The man sighed and proceeded to attempt to sit up with the help of the young nurse. He felt pain, but he didn't know why. Once he sat up, the man seemed dumbfounded as to where he was. His surroundings felt strange and unfamiliar.

"Where am I?" The man asked, his eyes still scanning the room.

"You're in a hospital, sir."

"Hospital? Why am I here?"

The young nurse took a seat beside the bed of the man. She took his hand and began to gently rub her thumb over it. Many of the soldiers had asked this question.

The mustard gas attack had seemed to affect their memories. Most of the men she had also comforted this way, but most of those men had died and like those men, the young nurse suspected that this handsome young man would die, too.

"You were involved in a mustard gas attack the day before yesterday while in battle. You were brought here for medical attention."

"Medical?"

"Yes. You have multiple wounds, sir."

That must explain the pain. Things seem to be gently settling in now. The moans seemed to have died down a little and the presence of this young woman had certainly calmed him.

The man gazed at his bandaged and bloody arm. He gently raised his hand to his head and the pain grew unbearable. He let another soft moan of pain escape his lips and the young woman shushed him and offered him the pills.

"Here." She placed them in his palm, along with the water. He took them and could taste the bitterness of the pills. "There. Now, you should get more sleep, sir."

"I should?" the young man asked. He certainly didn't feel tired. He felt as though he had slept for days.

The young nurse was slightly confused. This patient certainly was different. He didn't seem to remember anything or even know why he was there.

"Sir? Do you remember anything much from the attack?"

The young man began to think. He tried as hard as he could to rack his brains and think of anything he could beyond waking up just minutes ago.

He remembered blood. A lot of blood. Screams, shrieks, and smoke. He remembered coughing a lot. He remembered that his friend Matthew was covered in ugly-looking blisters and how he could barely breathe as he lay next to him on the cold, hard ground.

That was pretty much it.

"I remember some things. Blood, blisters, smoke. Matthew-my friend."

The nurse bowed her head and squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds. She knew of Matthew and his wounds. He had died yesterday. Blisters had covered what seemed like every inch of his body. They wept and when they were bathed with the hypochlorite bleach solution, he cried out in desperate pain, and all the nurse could do was block out his suffering as she tried her best to decontaminate him. But her best was not enough. Just like it wasn't for many other of the sufferers here. Most of them would die. She knew that. It was just a matter of time before they would, and then the next set of victims of this cruel war would be hurried in. It was the same old cycle and it seemed endless. Would the war ever end?

"Can you remember your name?" the nurse asked.

"Yeah. I'm Jack. Jack Dawson." His voice was smooth and sure and he even had a slight charming and boyish smile on his face as he said this. The nurse couldn't help but smile, too.

"I'm Dawn Armstrong. I'm one of the nurses here."

"I know. How long will I be here, Dawn?"

"For as long as your wounds will take to heal, Mr. Dawson. Some take days, other weeks and months. Others…well…they don't even heal at all."

Jack lowered his head, knowing what this would mean. Death. He knew himself how many people had become victims of the war. He'd seen death so close to himself that he thought he wouldn't make it through each day. Each day it seemed he lost a friend. He lost someone close to him. Poor Thierry. He had a family of his own.

"Are you married, Mr. Dawson?" Dawn asked, eyeing his wedding band. It was a rhetorical question, but no harm in asking. She wanted to lighten the mood a little. Death seemed to surround her every day.

"Married?"

"Yes. Do you have a wife?" Dawn smiled.

Jack looked down at his left hand and saw his wedding band sparkling in the dim light. It was then that he remembered Rose. God, his Rose. Did she even know where he was? Did she think him dead? Was she all right? And the baby?

Jack hadn't thought of Rose the whole time. She had always seemed to be the first thought in the morning as he awoke and the last thought at night before he slept. It was she who had encouraged him to go on and fight in this war. Thoughts of her and the child they would have together had carried him through.

"My wife will be wondering where I am," Jack spoke, almost just to himself.

"The authorities will have sent a telegram informing her of your whereabouts and about the attack. She will know you are here in the hospital."

"Shit. No." Jack began to rub his very sore head. That wasn't what he wanted. He could feel his legs and they seemed to burn a lot. He didn't want Rose to know. The shock could harm the baby. He hadn't written in weeks. He had to see her. "I have to see my wife. I have to."

Jack tried to spin his legs around to move himself from the bed sideways, but it seemed his legs stung badly. He tried so hard, and Dawn could do nothing but watch this poor man attempt to get out of bed alone. She herself felt like bursting out crying from what this war had done to the poor man.

"Jack, please. Stay. Don't move."

"I have to see my wife." Jack tried persistently to stand, even though he felt pain like he never had before. The burning. God, he thought he would collapse to the floor. But once again, the picture of Rose's smiling face was in his head and it wouldn't go away.

"Jack, please stop and lay down. I have to tend to you."

"Tend to what? You already gave me pills."

Hesitantly, Jack lay back down and almost screamed from the pain. Tears escaped his eyes as he wept like he never had before.

"What's wrong with me, Dawn? I'm not a man. I can't even stand. How can I be a father? How can I support my wife?"

Jack's pain became more intense as he the nurse begin to peel back his bedcovers and unwrapped what seemed like a bandage on his leg.

In the dim light, Jack raised his head to see what was causing him so much pain.

Blisters. Large white blisters had formed on top of his right leg. The looked like eggs.

"Now, Jack, shush. I need to apply some solution. This may sting."

Dawn dipped a small cloth into the hypochlorite bleach solution before applying it to Jack's sore leg.

Immediately, Jack felt nauseous and dipped his head over the side of the bed. He heaved heavily just from the pain and seeing what the war had done to his leg.

The image of Rose drifted farther and farther away and he lost consciousness.

Dawn hurried to tend to Jack and lifted up his head. She saw blood around his mouth. He had coughed up blood.

"Doctor!" Dawn screamed as she went running and found the most experienced doctor on the ward. From that moment, she was sceptical as to whether Mr. Dawson would indeed survive. She cried tears of pain for his wife, and he had also mentioned that she was with child.

 _God, please stop this damned war. Please. Make peace. God, please. Don't let innocent men die._ Dawn prayed harder than she had ever done in her entire life.


	4. Laying All Demons to Rest

**Chapter four – Laying Demons To Rest**

 **June 29** **th** **1918**

A loud knock sounded on the front door and Rose Dawson hurried as best she could to answer it. She was eight months pregnant and moving around was difficult. Life was hard for her without Jack. He had been away now for almost a year. She had to pay the bills and work as best she could.

She would also have to give birth to the baby alone. Jack was in a hospital in France. At first, Rose had thought of travelling to be with him, but then she realized she needed to be logical and also think of her own health for the sake of the baby.

"Letter for Mrs. Dawson!" a young man called before Rose could answer the door.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" she called back, opening the door to reveal a small boy around eleven.

"Good morning, ma'am. I have a telegram for Mrs. Dawson." In his small hand, he held a small yellow envelope.

"I am she."

The young boy held out the telegram before tipping his hat and wishing her a good day. She smiled in return and watched the boy disappear. He seemed like a very nice young man.

Closing the door, Rose settled herself onto the couch and tried to relax as best she could. The baby was moving around inside her vigorously and she always smiled as it did. She felt as though she knew this baby already and just what its temperament would be like.

Rose flicked her finger underneath the paper and opened the envelope.

 _Dear Mrs. Dawson,_

 _Your husband, Mr. Jack Dawson, will be returning to the United States on July the twenty-seventh. He will arrive via ship in New York._

A small smile crept across Rose's face and she touched her stomach very lightly. She settled back on the couch and slept soundly for the first time in almost a year. Jack was coming home. He would be home to see the baby born. He would hold his new-born child. The past three months of having no news had made Rose ill, she had barely left her bed and it was only her friend Abigail who had lifted her spirits and now in less than a month she would meet her husband once again.

 **Two days later,**

 **England**

Dr. Long placed the stethoscope against Jack's chest and listened intently to his breathing. In and out, in and out.

"All is well, Jack. You have a little wheezing, but that is expected."

"When will I be able to go home, Doc?"

Dr. Long smiled. There it was, the question he had been asking every day for the past two months. All he wanted, the poor fellow, was to see his wife.

"Soon," he replied, the same reply.

"Come on, Doc. Rose is to give birth soon. I don't want to miss it. I feel all right. I swear."

"I know, young man. But just to be safe-you have been through such a lot, Jack-don't rush these things. You have done mighty well so far. Mighty well."

Dr. Long smiled. He had.

When Jack Dawson had been brought there on May second, he had vomited every day. He had lost a lot of blood from his war wounds and blisters and burns had covered his legs.

Jack had slight memory loss and had to be reminded where he was every day. He couldn't remember the time, the date, the year, but he could always remember his Rose. Walking had been difficult for Jack. Even now, he had to use a stick or crutches on his bad days. The scars from the burns would remain forever. Jack had lost a lot of his hair from the stress and the strain of what had happened. He wasn't bald. He just had very little hair.

He had been in England since May recovering in a hospital just outside London.

"Thanks, Doc. Did I ever show you the picture of my wife?"

"You sure did, Jack. She's a real treasure. You hang onto her, son."

Jack smiled, took the picture from his bedside table, and gazed at it. "I don't intend to let her go. I married her and now we will have a baby."

"You'll be a wonderful father, Jack." The doctor picked up his clipboard and wandered to the door.

"I would if I could get home." Jack sighed to himself. Miserably, he threw the picture onto the bed and closed his eyes. He knew he would get home somehow. He just didn't know how. He had just enough money for a ship ride home, something he knew he would dread.

Dr. Long left the room and smiled a little. He knew how miserable Jack had been since he was brought there, but he knew he would get Jack home in time to see his little one born. He had been making plans for weeks now and had even informed Jack's wife.

All he had to do now was tell Jack.

In the two months he had been in the hospital and rehabilitation unit there, Dr. Long had taken a surprising shine to the wounded young fellow.

He was just a kid at twenty-five years old, but the love he had for his wife was more than what most married couples ever had.

 **July 1, 1918**

Breakfast was served at eight. Jack ate hungrily before Dr. Long paid him a visit.

As if on cue, he arrived.

"Good morning, Jack. Nice day? British summers are lovely."

"Hmm…" Jack mumbled.

"Don't look so glum, son."

"How can I not? My wife could be giving birth right now. I could be missing my child's birth."

Jack's eyes filled with tears. He would give anything to be in the States now, holding his wife's hand. He turned his head slightly and felt the ache in his neck from the awkward position he had slept in last night. He saw Rose's picture. He tried to picture what she would be doing right now.

"Come on, Jack. Let's check your breathing."

Jack knew the routine. He'd been doing it for months. He removed his shirt and allowed Dr. Long to examine his chest. When he had first arrived there, he'd had breathing problems and panic attacks, but now they had seemed to cease.

He breathed in and out heavily and then sighed as the doctor finished up.

"Very good. You're just fine today."

Jack found his shirt and put it back on. He picked at the remainder of his breakfast. He didn't want it. There was just nothing else to do around there. He had a lovely view of the English countryside from his window, but he wanted to be at home. Dr. Long sensed Jack's sadness. He knew what would come next-the same old question.

"Hey, Doc, when can I go home?" Jack didn't even raise his head from picking at the fruit. He expected the same old answer to follow-but it didn't.

"Today." Dr. Long smiled.

Jack raised his head quickly and his face met the doctor's smiling face. He wasn't being serious. Was he?

"What? Today?"

"Yes, today. You've done well, Jack. In fact, everything should be arranged for you."

Sliding from the side of the bed, he eyed the doctor suspiciously.

"Jack, for a few weeks, I've been rallying around, trying to arrange your return home. You leave here this afternoon and take a long train ride to Southampton-"

"Southampton?" Jack echoed.

"Yes. Then you board the Olympic-"

"Olympic?" Jack interrupted again. The Titanic's sister ship.

"Yes. Why? Is that a problem? It takes you home, doesn't it?"

Lowering his head, he nodded. He knew he shouldn't be so picky because of something that had happened a long time ago. He would see his Rose again. That was all he should worry about-seeing her beautiful face.

"Then you will reach New York and there your wife will meet you at the docks."

"You informed her?"

"Yes, I did. You can telephone her, if you like. Let her know you're coming home yourself."

Arranging the white lilies in the glass vase, Rose hummed a familiar tune to herself.

"You and that song, Rose." Abigail smiled as she entered the room. Abby was Rose's closest friend. She had lived there since the beginning of the year, when Rose had found out she was pregnant.

The pair had met at the theatre where they both worked, sharing a passion for drama and dance. They had struck up a friendship.

Abby was one of the most talented actresses at the theatre and had a reputation for liking her men, but Rose didn't mind.

"I'm glad you have a good voice-if not you'd slaughter it."

Rose laughed a little and pushed her curls from her face.

"I feel so tired." Rose yawned. It was just after eleven AM and she felt as though she hadn't slept in years.

"You're pregnant, Rose. Look how big you are. This baby is going to have very chubby cheeks." Abby giggled.

"I think so, Abby. I just hope Jack is here in time to see it born."

The telephone rang, startling the two young women. "I'll answer it!" Abby called. "Hello?" she said into the mouthpiece.

"Hello, gorgeous," an unknown voice replied.

Abby smirked a little. "Hello, handsome," she replied back, having no idea who it was.

"How are you?"

"I'm good, honey. How are you?" Abby giggled to herself, enjoying the little flirtation.

"Who is it?" Rose whispered from the sofa. She saw Abby giggling and wondered what she was up to now. The baby moved within her and Rose stroked her stomach, as if to soothe her restless unborn child.

"I don't know. A man," Abby replied, covering the mouthpiece. She held the phone back to her ear.

"Rose?" the man's voice asked, slightly uncertain. "Is that you?"

Abby's face fell and she laughed to herself. Oh, Lord. It was Jack. She had been flirting with Jack.

"No. It's Abigail. Sorry. Rose is here."

Abby giggled and held the earpiece up for Rose. Rose went to the phone.

"Hello?" she asked. She thought Abby was up to something, as usual, and she wasn't really in the mood for her games.

"Hey," a familiar voice said.

"Jack?"

"Yeah. It's me, Rosie. It's me."

She looked at Abby, who put her thumb up and left the room. To hear his voice again after so long was like heaven.

"I'm coming home, Rosie."

Those were the words which she needed to hear for so long. She squeezed her eyes closed and just hung onto the sound of his voice.

"I got the telegram. Jack, I cannot wait to see you."

"Is the baby all right?"

"We're fine. I haven't had the baby yet, Jack."

A sigh of relief escaped his lips.

"I will travel to Southampton later on today. I will travel on the Olympic and reach New York on the twenty-seventh."

The Olympic? That was the Titanic's sister ship.

"Oh, God. The Titanic's sister ship? Southampton? I wish I was with you. I hate the thought of you travelling alone. It would all be too much to bear alone."

"Rose, I'm coming home to see you. I would sail home on driftwood just to see you. If I knew that I would be coming home to you and the baby, I would do anything. Just the thought of you carries me through, Rose."

Rose could feel silent tears escaping her eyes. She almost wanted to drop the earpiece. She had forgotten just how romantic her husband was.

"I have to go, Rose. Will you meet me?"

"I'll be there. I swear. Wild horses won't stop me."

Jack smiled. His Rose was back.

"I love you, Rosie.''

Rose giggled a little and wiped away her tears.

"And I love you."

With that, they both hung up.

The train to Southampton and then boarding the ship. Memories seemed to haunt Jack night after night. The thought of he and Fabrizio here just over six years ago. The thought of Rose trapped in her society life, boarding a ship which she thought was a prison. Instead, it had freed her.

The Olympic was almost identical to her sister ship, although she was a great deal smaller. Memories rushed to Jack as he lay in his third class berth night after night. He'd had a dream in which Fabrizio had been smiling, laughing, and telling Jack he would be all right and to stop being so scared. He would be seeing Rose soon.

Jack awakened in a cold sweat and could almost feel his best friend's presence in the dark room. Tears flooded from his eyes. Maybe Fabrizio had come to him in his dreams. Maybe he should put everything behind him and concentrate on seeing Rose. Maybe Fabri was right.

After two days at sea, at dusk, an announcement was made that the ship would be coming close to where the Titanic had sank.

Wanting to know more, Jack grabbed his crutches and hobbled up on deck to see for himself. A bunch of people hunched in the drizzle, one holding a wreath.

"God bless those souls who lost their lives on that very tragic night. May they rest forever," a chaplain spoke.

"Amen," the crowd uttered. Some were upset. Others just stood sombrely. Jack forced himself to find the strength to join them. This would be his way to say good-bye to Fabrizio properly.

"Who would like to throw the wreath?" the chaplain asked.

Jack thought for a few moments and did something he had thought he never would.

"I would like to." Jack raised his hand and hobbled forward the best he could. The crowd was startled by the sudden appearance of this man, who looked barely old enough to remember the disaster.

Jack noticed the frowns on the faces of the gathered people.

"I was…um…I lost a friend on the Titanic. I would like to say good-bye properly," Jack uttered. Tears formed in his eyes. The chaplain offered Jack the wreath. He took it somewhat hesitantly. His hands shook violently as he made his way to the deck and looked overboard at the sea. He closed his eyes and could see himself and Rose lying on the driftwood. Tears escaped his eyes and he dropped his crutches to the wet deck.

"Fabri, Tommy, and the other souls who lost their lives that dreadful, horrible night, this is for you-" Jack dropped the wreath into the water and closed his eyes. He no longer wanted to see the ocean. He felt sick to the bottom of his stomach and was glad Rose was not there to witness it. "May they rest in peace," he whispered heart-wrenchingly. The others gathered there seemed to disappear. It was obvious he had lost someone special and wanted to be alone.


	5. Never Be The Same Again

Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed.

Chapter five: Never Be The Same Again

The Olympic docked in New York Harbour at eleven o'clock AM on July 27, 1918. The sun was shining brilliantly, and as the ship passed the Statue of Liberty, Jack was filled with new hope. He saw the lady guiding her city more proudly than anything. It was good to be home. It was cold here in winter, but he called this place his home. He could fill his lungs with American air and be happy and proud to be an American.

Brief memories of when he had docked with Rose six years before on the Carpathia filled his mind, but he pushed them away. He was home. He would see his Rose for the first time in almost a year.

First class was allowed to disembark first, then second, and then third. Jack didn't mind that he would be last. He gathered together the last of his belongings and walked up on deck. He had decided to not use his crutches. He wanted to greet Rose as the man he was and the man she knew. He walked down the gangplank and saw hundreds of faces, relatives meeting their family and friends. He looked around for Rose. His eyes scanned the crowds, but he couldn't see that familiar pretty face.

He settled himself on a small bench away from all of the hustle of the people and lit a cigarette. He knew he shouldn't smoke with how weak his lungs had become in recent months, but he puffed away on it anyway. He figured Rose was running a little late and sat on the bench until the crowds of the people disappeared and he was alone.

About half an hour later, a car pulled up along the sidewalk where Jack was sat. He heard voices from inside and wondered what all of the commotion was about.

The passenger door opened and a familiar voice called out to him. It was Abigail.

He smiled at once and picked up his luggage. Abigail ran around the back of the car.

"Rose is in labour, Jack!" she yelled. "Hurry into the car. We'll take you there."

That was it. Jack immediately dumped his luggage into the trunk of the car and got in. The short journey was spent with Jack fiddling around with the smallest things, his brain swirling with the fact that anytime now he would become a father. He felt as though he was in a long, peaceful dream, and soon he would wake up and find himself in the small hospital bed in England. He hated the fact that Rose was alone right now. He hated that he couldn't be there to comfort her.

"How long has she been in labour?" Jack asked Abby.

"Since the early morning. I was told to pick you up, but I wouldn't leave until the doctor was with her. She was asking for you all day, Jack."

Tears welled in Jack's eyes. He could be a father now.

As they reached the house, Jack rushed out and ran up the porch steps. The house hadn't changed much, but Rose had kept the garden neat and tidy. New flowers had been planted and made the garden a peaceful place.

Rose's screams of pain could be heard from outside. Jack stumbled up the stairs as best as he could, despite the pain from his leg.

His heart beat harder than before. He entered the bedroom and there she was. His Rose. His beautiful Rose. He took a few seconds to take her in.

"I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave, sir." The doctor noticed Jack in the doorway. Rose moved her head and tilted it towards Jack. Immediately, she reached out her hand to him. He grabbed it and kissed her head.

"You're here. You're finally here, my darling," she spoke, smiling through her tears and pain.

"Sir, I have to ask you to leave," the doctor repeated.

"I'm staying, doc. I'm the father." Jack gently stroked and held Rose's hand.

"A child's birth is not for a young man to witness," the doctor stated.

"Sir, with what I have witnessed since I went to war, the birth of my child is heaven."

The doctor's eyes widened slightly. It was not common for men to witness their children's births.

"He's staying," Rose confirmed.

The doctor nodded. ''If you are sure.''

The fact that Jack was now there was indeed heaven.

"You're well on your way, Mrs. Dawson, but it could still be a while." The doctor had examined using his fingers. The contractions hurt, they came every few minutes baring down into her stomach, wrapping around her back and into her pelvis but that was now dimmed. The pain was bearable with him there.

Rose hardly even listened to what the doctor had said. Her eyes gazed into Jack's intently as he stroked her wet hair. She touched his face to check if it was real.

"You're here," Rose repeated once again through her tears.

"I am, my darling. I am never letting you go again. The past nine months were the worst of my life. You gave me hope to go on, Rose."

He bent his head slightly and kissed her lips for the first time in nine months.

"I missed this. I missed you."

"I missed you, too. Not waking up next to you every day, feeling the baby kick-it was hell, Jack."

"I know." He nodded. He kissed her hand once again, not wanting to let go. This didn't feel real.

After all of the pain and hell he had endured for the last nine months, the war, the attack, and being in the hospital for months, he had thanked Dr. Long for his kindness over and over. Jack had hugged his doctor good-bye and they had even shed a few tears, as they had become such good friends without even knowing it.

Dr. Long had been his focal point through all of the hell in those few months. He had to pretty much learn to walk again, and there he was to help.

They had exchanged addresses and planned to write. Dr. Long had expressed a great deal of interest in the baby and wanted to know how it all went and how he felt as a father. Just the idea of the fact he was about to become a father was overwhelming. He had waited so long for this moment, and now that it was here, he didn't know what to do. He wasn't calm. He felt as though he could scream from the rooftops.

This would be the proudest moment of his life.

For Rose, the labour seemed to last forever. She had retired to bed the night before at around midnight, dreaming of the next day when Jack would be arriving home. She dreamt of meeting him and what a tearful reunion they would have.

At around four AM, she had felt funny. Her abdomen had felt sore and achy and the baby seemed to move around vigorously. She could feel the baby's tiny hands wiggling in her womb, and when she stroked her stomach, the baby moved slightly.

At 4:25, she had felt her water break. She had run the best she could into Abigail's room and awakened her.

The pair had waited until dawn and then Abigail had gone to fetch the doctor before returning. Rose had ordered her to meet Jack at the docks.

Rose had awaited their return for two hours, and the baby had still not been born.

Now, she was here with Jack.

"Jack, the pain is terrible!" Rose cried a little and clung to his hands.

"I know. I wish I could take away all of your pain. I wish I could."

"But it will be here soon, Jack."

"We'll be parents soon."

The last nine months had been hard for Rose. She had never lived alone before. Abigail had been a big help, but she wasn't Jack. She needed her man about the place. She needed her husband, just as her baby needed its father. She had feared Jack wouldn't be home in time to see his child born. But he was.

Three hours passed and as the doctor yelled, "One last push, Mrs. Dawson!" Rose did as she was told. She ignored the pain of childbirth and pushed downwards one final time, and as she did, she felt her child slip out of her.

The loud cries of an innocent new-born filled the room and Rose's puffy, crying face was soon weeping tears of joy and happiness.

She turned to Jack, who gently touched her cheek and then kissed her forehead lightly. She was sweating and he could taste it on his lips, but he didn't care. She had just brought their child into the world.

The midwife took the little one into the bathroom, where she cleaned up the baby and placed him securely and warmly into a small white blanket. The baby intently closed his eyes and began to drift off.

Minutes later, the midwife returned and handed the small bundle to his mother.

"It's a little boy, Mrs. Dawson. You have a son," the midwife said calmly. The look on Rose's face was blissful. The midwife had to think to herself she had help deliver hundreds of babies during her twenty year career, but never had she felt so much in the presence of true love as she did at this moment.

"A son?" Jack repeated, as if checking to see if all of this was reality.

"Yes, Mr. Dawson. You have a son."

The midwife left the room, followed by the doctor minutes later as he packed up his necessities.

"Congratulations. He's a good weight, too. Six pounds, twelve ounces. I'll be around in the morning to check on the little mite. Until then, enjoy him. They don't stay babies for long. They're soon little terrors." The doctor laughed, thinking of himself and his wife. They had seven children. The youngest was twelve now, but he remembered them all as babies. He realized that he was ranting a little, so he quickly said his good-byes and left the room, leaving the two new parents all alone for the first time with their new-born son.

He lay contently in the blanket. His small body wriggled about in the blanket and Rose could feel his tiny feet almost kicking around.

He had a small tuft of light blond hair and a perfect, pert nose, just like his father's. His lips were his mother's, soft and full. People had always said to Jack and Rose, "You won't know what the baby inherits from who until it's older," but this little boy was a perfect mix of both.

He opened his eyes slightly and then opened his small mouth and let out a wail. His tiny, bare gums were visible as he wailed. Rose gently rocked him in his small blanket, back and forth. He soon closed his eyes again.

"He has your eyes, Jack," Rose whispered, still rocking her son. The silence was broken between the two new parents. They were both so in awe of the small person laying in his mother's arms.

"I know. He has your chin, though."

Rose laughed a little.

"I never knew motherhood could be like this."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Jack. I thought it was magic and special, but by God, this is so much more. The love I have for this little boy is more overwhelming than I thought. I feel I have to do everything I can to keep him safe and happy. I feel as though I'm flying, Jack…"

Jack laughed a little, remembering the meaning of flying.

"I know, Rose. I could cry for hours now, just looking at him. I've never felt so emotional." With that, a tear ran from Jack's eye and he did his best to conceal it.

"I know. Me, either. God, I'm so new to all of this. I'm so in awe I could just gaze for hours at his small, perfectly beautiful face."

"We're both new to this, Rose. But we'll learn. I'm here now, Rose. I'm not going anywhere, ever again, Rose. I almost missed this, and now that he's here, I don't want to miss a second of our child growing up."

Rose could feel her eyes welling up a little just at the thought of Jack leaving now that their son was here. Just the thought made her want to give up.

"It was so hard, Jack. The days were long and boring. The nights were cold and lonely. The baby kicked all of the time and I would have given anything to just have you here for one minute to feel him moving around."

Rose felt the tiny body within the blanket begin to stir. He whimpered a little before opening his eyes-his beautiful, sea blue eyes.

"Look at him, Rose. Look at how perfect he is." Tears spilled from Jack's eyes and he gently touched his little boy's tiny fingers for the first time. He stroked them gently. It seemed to have a calming affect on his son. It was as if he knew his father was there to comfort him. "Do you ever think I could leave now? I couldn't bear to leave you, Rose, but I did, for King and country and all of that shit. But I'm here now. The war is no longer important. You and this little boy are."

"But the war is still going on, Jack. They could send for you again!" Rose panicked.

"No, Rose-" Jack was hesitant to tell her this now, but he knew he had to. All of the attention would be on their baby for a while, but she would find out someday anyway. He didn't want to frighten her or make her feel ill with details, but he had to tell her. "They won't send for me, Rose. I'm considered unfit to fight-" Jack trailed off.

"But you are fit-"

"No. I was involved in a mustard gas attack in France back in April. I was thought to be dead when I arrived at the hospital, but I was one of the few who didn't die. I was moved to a rehabilitation hospital in England. I had to learn to walk again and I suffered slight memory loss. Rose, I may have to walk with a cane for the rest of my life. I also have permanent burn scars on my stomach and the top of my right leg and a little on my left."

Rose gasped, not being able to take this sudden information in. That was why he hadn't written for months? The day had been too much for her, and she suddenly felt a lot of anger inside of her. Anger at the war. Anger at whoever did this to her Jack and thousands of other men around the globe who were risking their lives in the damned war. It wasn't a holy war, not by far, no matter what people said. It was a cruel, vicious attack on innocent people.

Tears fell from Rose's eyes as she clasped her son as if she would never let him go.

"Oh, God, Jack. Please tell me you had no pain. Please."

"I had pain, Rose, but not anymore. You had pain, too, but no more, Rose. No more. We're here now together, and nothing will ever stop that or take it away. We have a child now, Rose. We have to be strong, because we're parents."

Rose nodded, still feeling sick at the thought of Jack being alone in a hospital bed for all of those many months of agony.

"I'm so proud of you, Rosie. You gave me this perfect little boy. I will never be able to thank you enough."

"I will never be able to thank you enough for bringing yourself home to see all of this."

"Don't thank me. Thank Dr. Long." Jack smiled, thinking of the kind doctor back in England who had done wonders for Jack's confidence and health. He had brought Jack back to life, and then, when he was at his lowest, he had bought him a ticket home.

"Who?" Rose asked.

"Never mind. So, what are we going to call this little one?" Jack smiled, peering over the blanket.

"How about William? After your father, Jack?"

He gazed up at Rose. He had never expected her to suggest that name. She knew how much his father had meant to him when he was a boy. He wanted his son to have the same closeness as he had to his father.

"Really?"

"Yes. I know how special he was to you. I just wish he could have been here to meet me and to see his grandson."

"Yeah. Me, too. God, he would have loved you, Rosie, and little William here. He would have been so proud to hold his grandson in his arms."

"So, we'll go with William?" Rose asked. Jack nodded in awe. "Jack? Do you want to hold William?" Rose whispered softly. Jack nodded.

He sat on the edge of the bed and placed one arm around his beautiful wife. In the other, he took his son and held him close to his body.

He could feel his warmth, and he loved the smell of the baby. He was so pure and innocent and so unexposed to what was happening in the world right now, but Jack hoped he would never find out. Because he hoped there would never be another war as violent as this. Not another world war where so many innocent people were sent to their deaths.

Jack knew he would do everything in his power to shield his son from the world's horrors.

Jack gently kissed Rose's hair and smelled her scent for the first time in nine months. Her body was warm as she leaned against him. Her fingers gently touched her son's tiny feet and she smiled tiredly.

"I love you, Rose," he whispered softly, hoping she heard him.

"I love you, too," she replied.

Moments later, Jack saw that her eyes were closed and she was sound asleep. It certainly had been a big day for everyone in the Dawson family. William opened his blue eyes for a brief moment and Jack smiled, seeing them properly for the first time.

"Hey, handsome," Jack whispered. William closed his eyes and wriggled as if getting comfortable and then drifted back to sleep. Jack smiled. He would be sitting here for some time. Rose was asleep against him and William asleep in his arms, but Jack didn't care. This was where he wanted to be, now and forever.

Jack thought, though, of all of the tragedies which had occurred in the world-the Titanic, the magical ship where he had first laid eyes on his Rose.

He had lost his best friend, Fabrizio, who had almost been the brother he had never had. Together, they could do anything. Fabrizio had known of Jack's feelings for Rose and had backed him all of the way. He had been a big believer in true love and Jack had hoped that someday Fabrizio would find his. He never had.

Tommy, had been a proud Irishman. He'd become something of a friend and he, too, had never been recovered from the wreck.

But the war-the war was something else. The war was something which was cruel beyond recognition. No one knew what the conditions were unless they were on the front line, and Jack had been.

He had made friends with two innocent family men, both of whom were lost in the mustard gas attack on the morning of April 30, 1918.

This war was a cruel, cold war, something which shouldn't even occur in nightmares. The number of casualties and deaths had been high since the damned war had started in 1914. Over twenty million soldiers had been killed in the war already. Twenty million men-they were men, not just figures.

At eleven o'clock AM, on November 11, 1918, the eleventh hour of the eleventh month of the eleventh day, the war ended. Approximately thirty-seven million, four hundred thousand soldiers had died. The total number of men who were wounded from all countries was over twenty-one million. The Germans evacuated their positions, returned to Germany, and admitted defeat. Although Britain had won the war, it still didn't fill any holes that were left open by the Great War.

On June 28, 1919, Germany signed the Treaty of Versailles, which stated that the Germans should take full responsibility for the whole war.

Germany was commanded to pay eleven billion, three hundred million pounds back to the other countries, which was the estimated cost of the war.

Germany was stripped of its land and the German economy became weak, although justice was never really to be done.

Men still died in tragic circumstances, leaving widowed women and fatherless children.

Land was destroyed, ships were sunk, and bombs were dropped.

And the world was never the same again.

 **I want to thank everyone who took the time to read this story. I first wrote it back in 2008 when I didn't have much experience writing and I had to go back to it to re-write parts. In those eight years I hadn't realised just how much I loved this story.**

 **The origins is based on the story of my great grandmother and great grandfather (maternal grandmothers parents) which my great grandfather went to war just six days after marrying my great grandmother who was aged just sixteen back in 1914 when Britain declared war, she conceived their first child and after been the victim of an attack he returned home aged just eighteen 9 months later on the day their first son, William was born. My great grandad was wheelchair bound for the rest of his life and they went on to have another 8 children including my nanan who often told this story. I never met either of them as my great grandad died back in the 50's and my great nanan died in the late 80's just three years before I was born but for some reason this really sticks with me.**

 **William was my great uncle and he went on to fight in the Second World War and he too was hurt in the similar way which his father was and returned home to be wheelchair bound for the rest of his life. I did meet William and he was one of the influences of my life. He died when I was 15 and left me 2 medals which he retained in the war.**

 **But this story isn't just for those it is for the millions who died not just in the Great War, The Second World War but any war and any country.**


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